


Beautiful Dignity

by VaultOfMelkurMistress



Series: Vault Stories [7]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Anorexia, Dealing with it all, Eating Disorders, F/M, The Doctor cares for Missy, The Doctor opens his eyes, The Vault (Doctor Who), being good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:35:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27688384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VaultOfMelkurMistress/pseuds/VaultOfMelkurMistress
Summary: Missy, facing the actions of her past and struggles with the concept of how she could ever be good. Her introspection and sense of powerlessness leads to anorexic behaviour as she deals with her need to harm herself in a self controlled manner that is one of the only things she has power over in her confinement. The Doctor finally realises and takes care of her.
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor/Missy
Series: Vault Stories [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1944550
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22
Collections: Twissy Stories





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ineternity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineternity/gifts).



> Prompt from internity:
> 
> Missy's anorexia comes to breaking point. The Doctor plans an intervention. This isn't as light and has less humour than my usual content in this series.
> 
> Please read the tags, Trigger Warning for anorexia and eating disorder behaviours. I want to approach this sensitively, this is something I have lived experience of and don’t want to approach lightly. Story title comes from the Manic Street Preaches - 4st 7lb. I could have approached this in a few different ways, and it didn't come out quite how I intended it too - really explore this properly, a long, multi chapter story would be better, but this is what I feel able to produce, so here we go. More comments in end note.

He hadn't visited for two days.

Two days. The nerve of him, occupied with human life, or at least she hoped. If he waltzed back in with stardust in his hair she would go for blood. 

She paced the circumference of the vault, a rapid pace, mentally counting her laps, a routine that had become an integral part of her day for a long time now. 172, that was better, despite the dizziness that threatened to slow her down and stop her effort. 173 and she felt nauseous, shaking, weak. 

174 and she stumbled, her ankle twisting as she tried to keep moving while a wave of dizziness struck her hard. She reached out, bracing herself against the wall, ignoring the pain in her ankle as she bent down, palms flat against the wall as she moaned, feeling hot and sick. 

She gave herself a minute before slowly standing upright again, still trembling as she composed herself and continued.

The stomach pains felt empowering. Such a badge of strength, a dignity in self control and self punishment. Her own silent discipline which intensified at every remembered wrong. In time, this became every perceived wrong, and in the last five years, since her anger had quieted and she had moved to a certain acceptance at her confinement, it changed into something far more consuming. 

She would sit with the Doctor when he had their regular discussions over right and wrong, hyper aware of her answers, her self analysis continuing long after he had left. His pauses, extended longer than at other times, his slight frown, unamused expressions - each nuance, however slight, stored in her mind and replayed. He always left on a good note, ensured her spirits were raised and there was no tension between them, even talked about the positive things they would do that week, he honestly, never could see what was right in front of him.

Every disguise, every trap, he could never tell, never see her, so she felt quite secure in her secrets.

And _how_ she perceived her wrongs. Every day, living in silent self judgement in the confines of her vault, waiting for the Doctor who brought with him the ability to crush her or raise her up without even knowing the impact he had. She didn’t even notice when it had come to that, he wasn’t doing anything differently, wasn't doing anything to upset her at all. Her mind though, that was the ever evolving issue. She had little to do except observe his every reaction to a minute, critical detail.

She just wanted to be good. She really wanted to be good.

Finally 200 and then finally she could stop, allow herself to sit, open the packaged food that the egg had left her for breakfast. She sat up straight, embracing and welcoming the pain in her stomach - this was good, this was control, this was ownership. Splitting open the packet, she cut the food into small pieces, mentally counting the sections and feeling utterly victorious as she stood, carrying her plate first to the bathroom, scraping most of the food into the toilet and flushing before carrying the rest to the small kitchen area, which couldn't really be called a kitchen when the room merely contained an electric oven, a sink and basic items. The lack of a microwave was an annoyance, but given that she had dismantled the one the Doctor had given her some time ago, and created a small but amusing weapon that she used to shoot targets - not even actual people, she had not been given another one. 

She didn’t see the problem. No one had actually died….mostly because it would be terribly inconvenient to murder the butler - he brought her makeup supplies and was great for target practice. 

She scraped the remaining food from the plate and washed everything immediately, placing the plate and cutlery beside the sink to dry. Standing back she observed the scene with satisfaction - a very realistic situation, suspicion had never been aroused. They really did not pay that much attention to her eating habits so her freedom in that respect was very untethered.

She felt prouder as the pains in her stomach reminded her of her success. Yes, this was good. 

She had spent the rest of the day playing piano, her own composition that she felt very satisfied with. As her fingers began to feel stiff and sore, she stopped, ensuring she would be able to play for an equal length of time the next day, or even demonstrate her new piece to the Doctor. 

She sent five amusing notes to his psychic paper, giggling as she lay on her bed on her stomach, kicking her legs as she laughed, sending crudely drawn pictures of Nardole and various methods of murder with her standing happily next to his body with a big smile. The Doctor sent back chastising remarks that made her giggle further. She enjoyed moments like those - especially knowing she had made him smile in a crowded lecture hall because of her. 

She rolled onto her back and stretched, closing her eyes and lying still as she immersed herself into one of her favourite pastimes - imagining stories. Worlds on fire, empty ones of course, because she was trying to be good. Planets conquered, nicely. Cybermen marched into her imagination - dancing at her command before marching into a large room where various people who had annoyed her sat tied to chairs. 

No so good. But still, just a story, no harm done. 

The Doctor had relayed that he would not be with her for a further three hours and asked her to finish the Incredibly Boring Book of Ethics. Not the real title but the real one was as tedious as the book. She didn’t like being given instructions, it irked her when he did that, and so she read it, drawing a series of cartoons of a friendly lion and a bossy lion tamer on every page. At the end, just in case, she wrote their names with big arrows, because sometimes, the Doctor really didn’t see what was right in front of him and needed her to point things out. 

She tossed the book onto a chair and got to the floor below the platform steps, stretching out, her palms flat on the raised platform and her feet braced on the floor as she began pressing her body down and up, her arms trembling with the effort immediately. She cursed at her weakness and continued, gritting her teeth as she forced herself to continue, cursing as her arms gave way and her chin hit the edge of the steps beneath her, tasting blood in her mouth. She gave herself a few minutes, feeling dismay at her failure, before continuing, her arms shaking badly when she finally reached 200. 

She made 15 origami models featuring herself leading a small army of Daleks and a few dead humans laying around before writing a new list for the egg to frown at, making sure to write some menacing items in, just to see the look of fright he gave her - and if her menacing items slipped through the net and arrived, that was a bonus. 

The Doctor arrived that evening, even later than his estimate and laden with takeaway. Missy smiled thinly as he laid out the cartons, dizziness clouding her mind as his voice became an echo, the smells of the food appealing to and attacking her senses all at once. 

She felt a wave of panic as the Doctor continued talking, from the occasional words that made it into her foggy mind, she realised it was the tedious topic of ethics yet again. How it grated her mind to hear the ridiculous scenarios he wanted to discuss over dinner. Could she please for once, have a night off. He had briefly questioned the bruise on her chin, concerned, but she had rebuffed him easily, her excuse accepted, to her relief.

She took a fork and a deep breath and began to push the food around on her plate. It would be risky, to say she didn't feel well again. If she kept using that excuse, her cover would be blown before long. Instead she opted for the riskier approach of waiting until his back was turned and pushing the food from her fork onto the floor. He was tired, he wouldn't notice.   
  
They ended the evening on a positive note - a game of chess, and no difficult conversation, light, happy, the fogginess and sluggishness of her mind, pushed down as far as she could to enjoy the moment. She loved moments like this with him - their gazes locked as they studied each other, eyes alight with playful competition. They did this more and more lately, she liked it. She pondered that he must see some kind of change, some hope for their friendship, or he wouldn't have spent increasingly more social time with her, but it wasn’t enough. Even his praise and acceptance wasn't enough anymore, not when the faces of the people she had killed haunted her dreams nightly.

A day later, another 200 laps, another easily disposed breakfast. Time Lord's didn’t need to eat to the same regularity as humans and Missy soon realised that Nardole wasn't certain how often they did eat anyway. The egg could be quite handy sometimes. 

She had been drawing when the Doctor arrived, the smell of food making her stomach muscles clench in a mixture of trepidation and craving. She cursed herself at her weakness.

She sat once again, the pain a dull ache that had died down considerably. She felt a cloud of dizziness and sudden nausea as she raised the fork to her mouth, disgusted, but reminding herself that this was a necessary evil. She needed the Doctor to see her eating to witness this ruinous act of self sabotage.

“Did you sleep better? Any more nightmares?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” she said, smiling, a genuine burst of joy at his concern. 

“You will tell me Missy, if you do? The nightmares are part of how you are addressing your past, you don’t have to do that alone.”

Missy smiled brighter, against the wave of exhaustion, momentarily at peace with his words. She took another bite, six. It was her favourite food, but it tasted of nothing, a foreign object in her mouth. She swallowed, resisting the urge to spit it out discreetly when he looked away. He was watching too closely, unusually so, her dizziness swarmed her mind as she stared at the food, avoiding his eyes. She tried, her own personal agreement with herself that a third of the container was an acceptable lapse when the Doctor was eating with her, but her body only reacted with sharper stomach pains, not happy at all about the intruder that the food seemed to be.

“Missy, are you ok?” he said, frowning, confused. 

She stood, wincing slightly at the sharp pains in her stomach as she straightened.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, standing and stepping closer, halting as soon as she raised her hand in objection. 

“I’m fine, just feeling a little unwell, too many nightmares lately, Just a little dizzy, I’ll go to bed honey. Tomorrow, we trade your boring ethics book for my quantum mechanics quiz - let’s see which of us wins.”

“OK,” he said, with a small smile, a flash of concern for her welfare shooting through him. “I could stay for a while - read to you while you fall asleep?”

“That would be nice,” she said, against her better judgement to prevent him from realising her condition. “If you mention ethics even once though, I’m kicking you out of my bed Doctor.”

“Fair enough,” he said, smiling as he kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his jacket before climbing into bed with her. 

She shifted straight into his arms, sighing in contentment as she rested her head on his chest, light headed, nauseous and hurting. The Doctor’s arms tightened around her, as she drifted immediately to sleep. 

His mind was wholly occupied with her when he left, ignoring Nardole’s look of disapproval as he brought her breakfast and squeezing her hand with a smiles she climbed out of bed, still fully dressed, a fact that only confused the Doctor as he left, facing the annoyance of a day where he would be faced with too many responsibilities at the university to visit her until at least late evening.

The night had come far too quickly and he had sent Missy a note, explaining that he would be away at a conference and suggesting chess when he returned. There had been a pause before she replied, but no hint of annoyance in her response at his absence for another day. He had asked Nardole to look in, much to Nardole’s immediate protest. After much reassurance that Missy would stay in the containment field and not do anything to trap him this time and that Nardole would be perfectly safe alone, he finally relented. The Doctor relaxed. Nardole would be a good observer in his absence, he reported every minor thing involving Missy so she would be kept a close eye on. 

He would be back before Missy even had time to complain of his absence. 

Missy stood from her piano stool, pushing it back slightly as she turned around, the mere action of standing too suddenly creating a fresh wave of dizziness. She focused her eyes on the nearest chair, making a move forward as she gripped the piano, nausea and dizziness hitting her far too hard as the world around her turned black. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continuing themes from the previous chapter, trigger warning for anorexia. I left the ending at a point where they were taking steps toward recovery together as it was hard to approach this in any other way.
> 
> Half way done with a light hearted happy story for this series too!

Nardole placed the tray down on the ground as he opened up the intercom and began inputting the codes to begin the door release mechanism. Nervous was an understatement. He had made it very clear how thoroughly annoyed he was with the Doctor - he had left her for four days the previous week and anything could happen in that stretch of time. As his head would attest to when he had entered and a cup had shattered against the wall mere inches from him. Missy was still inside the containment field, casting a victorious and decidedly evil smile and he had done what anyone would in that situation. He screamed and ran. 

“Miss? I have lunch and supplies….you’re not getting any of this if my life is in mortal danger within seconds of stepping inside there.” He paused and listened, seeing her life signs as safely inside the containment field but is growing unease for his own welfare did not ease. “Ok Missy, I’m putting up the containment field....”

He shrugged, her silence making him uneasy as he released the door and stood back, tense and expecting her to pounce on him at any moment. 

Before he made a move to pick up the tray, he froze, immediately reacting to the sight of her lying motionless on the floor. He moved quickly across the room, releasing the containment field and kneeling down beside her, tentatively reaching out, a hand to her shoulder as his other brushed her hair from her pale face to get a look at her and work out if she was injured.

“Missy?” he said, gently shaking her shoulder. “Miss, um….Missy...what’s wrong? Doctor?” he called out and then grimaced, a rising panic swirling rapidly. “Can’t hear me all the way in here, can he? Missy, come on…I don’t know what to do!”

* * *

Much later, Missy roused briefly to the gentle and familiar hum of a TARDIS, a stark and reassuring difference to the silence and echos of the vault. Too tired to bother questioning, she quickly deduced that she was safe, given the limited possibilities for whose TARDIS she might be on and drifted back to sleep.

She woke again sometime later, the cloudiness in her head lifted and an immediate flash of concern as she felt the lack of restriction around her torso. She eased herself up, palms flat on the white sheets of the unfamiliar bed, in what was clearly the Doctor’s medical room, as she glanced around, sitting up, her eye falling on the Doctor, sitting on a chair close by, focused on a book. 

She took the moment of his distraction to push back the sheet and figure out what he had done with her clothes, and why. She frowned at the long purple nightdress she presently wore.

“You had me worried,” he said, his voice taking her by surprise due to her distraction.

“What did you do with my clothes, you could've just brought me flowers dear,” she said, aiming for flirtatiousness by immediately spiralling into defensiveness.

“I needed to run diagnostics, your clothing was too restrictive, had no idea how to put your corset back on, but given the bruises around your ribs, I'm sure your body won't mind a rest.”

Missy sighed and sunk back against the pillows, watching him. “How long have I been here?”

“18 hours,” he said, his look of concern meeting her alarmed expression.

“Sorry, probably the nightmares, keeping me up, or a bug. You’re probably picking up lots of human diseases, living out there for years. Don’t appreciate you bringing human germs into my vault.”

“You don’t have a bug,” he said, watching her with concern. “What’s going on Missy?”

“Well,” she said, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “Once upon a time a very bad lady was going to be executed, properly killed and all that and a very good man came along and played hero, because that’s his kink and…”

“Stop it,” he said, closing his eyes briefly. “You’ve lost a lot of weight - your blood profile is bordering on malnutrition. Missy, what’s going on?”

“I suppose a diet of takeaway isn't the healthiest,” she said, shrugging dismissively. “Can I go home now?”

“Home?” he asked, frowning.

“Yes Doctor, you know, big locked room with a piano in the middle.”

“You consider that home?” he asked, standing and pulling his chair over to her bed, sitting and watching her, stunned.

“Well, it's where I live, and you’re here, and we even have a butler, so yes it’s my home,” she said, her features hardening in a playful menace as Nardole entered.

“Oh you’re awake, good,” he said, looking at Missy before turning to the Doctor. “Are we having that conversation now?”

“Yes,” the Doctor said. “I was just getting to that, take a seat Nardole.”

“Whatever he said I did, he’s lying,” she said, the tension in the room reaching her.

Nardole pulled another chair over, sitting strategically so that the Doctor was between him and Missy. Missy smirked, pointing her fingers to her eyes and then turning her hand toward Nardole pointing at his eyes. He squirmed in his seat as she grinned in satisfaction at having rattled him. 

“Missy, I need to know if you’re intentionally starving yourself...or controlling your weight,” the Doctor said, his gaze intent and concerned. 

“Have you seen me honey?” she said, bemused. “If I ever did worry about that, I’d just lace my corset tighter. I’m not a _human_.”

“You’re not going back..home, for a few days, I need to run more tests and keep an eye on you.”

“That’s not acceptable - I want to go back.”

“You’d rather be in there than out here, in a TARDIS?” he asked, watching her carefully.

“Doctor, you’ve run tests, you can see I don’t have any icky human germs, now don’t make a fuss.”

“I haven’t been paying attention Missy, I’m worried about you,” he said.

“Doctor, look, you want me here in domestic bliss with you, fine, but you better have a music room.”

Nardole had busied himself setting up an intricate network of containment fields and building a handheld device to track her bio signature around the TARDIS. The Doctor didn’t think any of that was necessary but it kept Nardole from being so jumpy around her and that meant less head aches so he humoured him.

Eventually, Nardole appeased, they sat by the fireplace, a pot of tea and two cups on a small table between their chairs. She had been uncertain with the prospect of even leaving her room, a fact that concerned him greatly, given how eager she had always been to procure his TARDIS. He eventually took her hand, leading her to the room where she finally seemed more relaxed, settling onto the chair, wearing slightly oversized black pyjamas which he was certain had belonged to one of her previous selves, that fact only narrowed it down a little - but none had stayed as frequently as the version of her that was with him during his time with UNIT. He smiled at the memory of the wonderful cooked breakfasts she used to make.

He glanced at her as she gazed into the flames absently while he placed a book on moral dilemmas on the table, before standing and stoking the fire, as he turned around he paused at the sight of her, her focus now on the book, her body wracked in silent sobs. 

“Please Doctor, just one day without this. I just want to rest."

“I can read to you, by the fire, that might be a nice change,” he said, oblivious to the reason for her distress, but deeply concerned as he dragged his chair closer, pushing the table back and placing his hand on her arm.

“I don’t want to, not tonight, I can’t bear it anymore.”

“Can't bear what?”

“This! I can't tonight, just let me have one night without having to think.”

“Thinking is part of the process, it's important to analyse, if you feel uncomfortable with moral dilemmas than that's a good sign that you're becoming more introspective about your actions. Let's just look at a couple of..”

“Stop,” she whispered, barely audibly. 

“To go back to our discussion earlier…this could be likened to say...Logopolis. Did you have any moments where you stopped, hesitated before taking a life?” 

“Stop!” she screamed, tears falling fast as her breath came in sobs. “JUST STOP! No, I didn’t because I'm a monster. I killed and I killed and I didn’t care and I didn't see them as anything more than ants. I didn't hesitate, I didn't stop. I Am. A. Monster. So please stop because I don’t need continuously reminding how truly evil I am.”

The Doctor froze, a deep and very real fear flooding through him as she abruptly stood, staring into the flames.

“Missy?” he whispered, standing and reaching out, his hand barely touching her arm before she jerked away. “We can stop, it’s ok, what can I do for you right now? How can I help you?”

“Please, it's enough, I just want to go to sleep now.”

“I want to help you, you’re not in this alone. If this is too much, then we’ll decide together what will help you better. This isn’t a process designed by me to hurt you - it's a process we design together to _help_ you. This pain, this reality, it’s harsh and painful but you’re not dealing with it alone. I just didn’t...see how badly it was harming you. Missy, are you ok?”

“I’m tired and emotional you idiot, of course I'm not ok. I just haven't been sleeping, nightmares, I just need to sleep. Please, just leave.”

“Ok,” he said, watching her with caution. “I won't invade your privacy when you want to be alone, but if you feel unwell, or you have another nightmare - use the psychic paper, or come and find me - talk to me, will you promise me?”

“Sure, sure,” she said, a wave of dizziness engulfing her. “I’m just tired. Sleepy now, night night honey.”

He watched as she left, heading in the direction of her room and asked himself for the 70th time, whether he was truly helping her at all.

The next morning he resisted the urge to go straight to her room to check on her, instead making tea and toast and taking it to the conservatory of a small garden. A room he hadn't visited in a long time, but he felt Missy would enjoy the view of the beautifully crafts landscaped gardens, a winding brook further into the distance.

She had found him on instinct, redressed in her usual clothes, hair loose and face freshly washed. The lack of makeup left her with an almost vulnerable look - not that he would dare to say that to her - but he pondered for a moment, whether she was finally feeling secure enough in herself to show him the friend he remembered, the person under the mask.

She sat, nodding her thanks as he passed her a freshly poured cup of tea, relieved at the silence between them for a little while. The pressure of having to talk, evaluate her morality, or be honest about herself was far too much when she felt so fragile. 

The Doctor placed a syringe device on the table, taking a breath before looking at her.

“You’re not well Missy, but I’m not doing anything without your consent. You were dehydrated so I gave you fluids but that’s all. This will supply long term doses of a lot of things you’re depleted in, it won’t change anything...that you’re doing. It ensures your biochemistry stays healthy, but it’s only one part of what you need.”

“It’s really my choice? If I say no, you’re not gonna sneak up on me with this? Lace my water supply? Anything naughty like that?”

“No, you have my word. I just ask you to seriously consider it. I do have a responsibility to you and I have not been keeping my end of our agreement, not to miss the signs so spectacularly. Do you feel able to have this?”

Missy stared at it, chewing her lip. “I suppose so, what else though?”

“One thing at a time, can I do this now?” he said, picking it up and standing, stepping in front of her.

“Sure,” she said, her breath quickening as he held the device to the side of her throat, sweeping her hair to the side and pressing a button. She remained motionless as the device made an almost imperceptible scratch, the Doctor standing back and placing it down moments later, taking her hands with a smile.

“That’s very good Missy, thank you. Do you think if we make a plan together, minimum amounts to eat, that you could do that? How does that sound?”

“Sounds like you’re a secret control freak who is really enjoying making all the rules,” she said, blurting out the thought on the edge of her mind that she hadn't actually meant to verbalise.

“Do you really feel that way?” he said, concerned. “Controlling you is the last thing I want to do, I just want to help you, find ways to make this work for both of us. Your mental health is suffering, your becoming ill, that is my responsibility and I can’t ignore it. How about you make a plan, but show it to me. Then I can help you stick to it - we’ll eat together for a while and I want to check you over regularly, make sure you're well. Nothing too invasive, and eating together will be nice, companionable, not an observation - over a movie or a game. How does that all sound?”

“Like I can't be trusted in basic self care,” she said, staring at the empty device.

“No,” he said, crouching down and taking her hands, bringing them to his lips and kissing her knuckles first on one hand and then the other. “It means you’re on a painful and difficult journey, and you’re on that journey because you _do_ care, because you do want to change and it would be utterly negligent of me to thrust you into that and not help you traverse the paths.”

“Fine,” she said, raising a hand to swipe away the tears she hadn't noticed were falling. “My plan starts slowly, and involves more of this - you and I, tea and talking, and maybe some cuddling too.”

“I don’t doubt you’ll need to go slowly and that’s fine Missy, but every step forward you take, I’ll be here to hold your hand.”

"What about the rest of it? It won't always be inching forwards Doctor," she whispered.

"I'm here for that too Missy, to help pick you up again when you need it."

Missy’s face softened as she slid from her chair, straight onto his lap, caring little that her weight pushed him straight to the ground. She curled into his lap as he shifted awkwardly, finding a way to sit on the ground comfortably with the sudden addition of her in his arms. 

He kissed her head and smiled as his arms wrapped around her securely. 

“Small steps, let me take care of you, and we’ll get there Missy, together,” he said. 

She smiled, her tears drying on his jacket as they both looked out, beyond the manicured gardens to the wilder, unkempt wilderness beyond the brook.

“Lovely meadow by the way,” she said, steadying her voice and composing herself despite the tear tracks on her face. “Know what it needs?”

“You're going to say a pony, aren't you?” he said, smiling as his hand slipped into hers and she tightened her grip with a warmth and strength of a kind he was sure she didn’t know she had. 

“Yep, you’re mean to me you know,” she said, and the playful edge to her voice sent a wave of relief to the Doctor.

“Maybe we can borrow one, briefly…”

Missy laughed, snuggling closer on his lap. “I also think a dimensional gateway would look great in this field over here.”

“Don't push it,” he said, shaking his head as he inched down, his lips skimming her cheek before he placed a kiss at the edge of her mouth.

She turned her face, looking at him, eyes tired but bright as their lips met, softly and with considerable love.

“ _Kissing_ ,” came the utter disapproval and disgust of Nardole's voice nearby. “Two hours I’ve left you two alone and you’re _kissing_. Why am I even surprised?”

“Know what else this garden needs?" Missy said, smirking. "A dismantled butler would make a lovely lawn ornament.”

Nardole turned and ran.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I saw this prompt I skimmed past it but then I went back. There is that old addage that says to write what you know - I did that once in Smoke and Ashes but I've never written about this before. So this took some courage and I hope it's ok. It’s written with respect to other anorexia survivors and those who may be struggling today. Recovery isn’t linear - what matters is that we know we want to be better. Missy has no scales in the vault and I decide not to have her construct any because while the numbers can be a powerful source of control and confirmation of perceived power (and again, I speak from my experience, and do not assume your personal experience) I don’t believe she would need that tool that humans may. 
> 
> So this story was about powerlessness, control, turmoil and a need to be accepted and forgiven, and Missy losing control of her autonomy in the vault, as well as a fear of doing wrong by the Doctor and being trapped in her own introspection and guilt, I do believe all this could lead to a need for self abuse, and a form of self harm which for a time, remains invisible and a closely guarded secret because that, can become the singular empowering and self forgiving trap that she could slip into. So please excuse the length of this note, but I do not want to approach this topic lightly or to seem as though I am making any assumptions of judgements about eating disorders. Nervous about posting this one tbh, I'm not sure it came out as I hoped it would, but I guess it came out as I was able to, so I hope it feels ok. I promise to write much fluff to make up for this.
> 
> Love and light and thanks for reading x


End file.
